Christmas Lights
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: A different take on Christmas night in ASiB. Inspired by Coldplay's Christmas Lights.


**_Christmas night, another fight_**

 ** _Tears we cried, a flood_**

 ** _Got all kinds of poison in, of poison in my blood_**

 ** _-Coldplay, Christmas Lights_**

"Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts," Sherlock trailed off, realizing his first mistake. She hadn't done all this for another man…she had done it all for him.

"You always say such horrible things," she told him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Every time. Always. Always." He felt ashamed of himself. Once again, he allowed emotion—jealousy—cloud his judgement. This was just one of many reasons that emotions were dangerous. He always ended up hurting the people he loved. _Love_. _Molly_.

"I am sorry. Forgive me," he told her. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." His feet dragged him forward as if he had no say in the matter. Before he registered what his emotions were causing this time, his lips were pressed softly to her cheek. God, he wanted to truly kiss her, but he stepped back, reigning in his emotions once more. Then his text alert went off and ruined everything that had built up. Sherlock knew he'd need to have a smoke before the night was up, the way it was going.

After identifying Irene's body, he felt things getting worse between him and Molly somehow. She had gone directly home afterward and he took Oxford Street, knowing he was getting closer to her flat. When he found himself at her door, looking up at her windows, he had half a mind to just walk away and salvage what was left of Christmas. She was still awake; he had time to make things right.

Emotions be damned. Sherlock knew there was no fighting them any longer; at least not when it came to her. To his Molly.

' _Is that sentiment talking_?' Mycroft's voice sounded in his head. He had taken the cigarette from his brother, but hadn't smoked it yet. Depending on how this potentially heartbreaking moment was going to go, he may not need it. So he let himself inside the building and knocked when he approached her door.

"Sherlock?" she questioned, surprised at his appearance at her door. He looked her over, taking in the state of her dress. Already in pajamas—yellow pants with white polka dots and black camisole—and her hair up in a messy bun. Her eyes were pink, bordering on red, no doubt from the tears he caused her to cry.

"May I come in?" he asked in what he hoped was a gentle tone. She said nothing, but stepped aside to allow him passage into her flat.

"Would you like some tea? I just made a fresh kettle," she offered.

"If it's not too much trouble," he replied. "Thank you."

They settled on the sofa together, their proximity quite close, but never said a word as they drank their tea. It was a comfortable silence. The kind that was welcome. He watched as her eyes watched him, being hesitant about whether to speak or even possibly touch him. Didn't she know that he would welcome her with open arms regardless of what she did? Why was she so seemingly afraid of him?

"I'm sorry," they spoke in unison, resulting in the pair of them laughing.

"Why are you sorry?" he asked in confusion.

"You lost a friend tonight; you must be feeling awful," she replied.

"She wasn't a friend," he told her. "Nor lover, if that's what you were thinking. Merely a highly intelligent enemy that kept things interesting."

"I see," Molly remarked, sipping her tea. Another moment of silence passed before Sherlock couldn't take it anymore.

"Molly, I'm so sorry for my indiscretions earlier," he spoke softly, taking her hand in his. She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued with his apology. "I meant none of what I said to you. If you took it to heart, I'm terribly sorry. I was not myself—well, perhaps I was myself but I allowed things to spin out of control; damn the emotion called jealousy. And thank you for the gift, though I haven't actually opened it yet, and—"

"Sherlock, it's okay," she told him. "Calm down, it's alright." Her fingers lightly caressed his shoulder and he felt like melting into her. "What do you mean, you were jealous?"

"Yes," he managed to say. "I, uh, thought you had a new boyfriend. What I failed to realize was that you did all of that for me." Despite the heat flushing her cheeks, Molly still held her ground.

"Do you feel something for me?" she asked him, caressing his shoulder more firmly now.

"I think I always have," he admitted. Sherlock looked into her eyes, so full of love for him. How did he get so lucky for her to have chosen him? He chose her too, whether he had been fully aware of it or not. He bent his head to kiss her cheek again, but Molly moved her head just enough so that his lips were on hers. It surprised him at first, but then he truly melted into her, succumbing to the emotions boiling inside of him. Everything about the moment felt right; the feel of her lips, the sliding of his tongue against her own. It was magnificent. It took him to new highs that not even solving crimes could do. God, he was already addicted to her love.

The strings of lights in her flat lit up her face beautifully, he thought. Even the ones up in 221B had given a warm glow to the warm woman beside him. She had asked him to stay much to his delight. He didn't want to leave. So he held her in his arms as she curled up beside him in bed, her head resting over his heart. Sherlock felt there was something sinister ahead of him, but he would keep her safe. For now, he let himself enjoy the night with her. For she was the most precious thing to him now.


End file.
